


Do You Dance Like This? (Forever)

by Charliesmusings



Series: Arcadia Oaks Senior Prom [1]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Multi, Post-Canon, mild emotional hurt, very slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charliesmusings/pseuds/Charliesmusings
Summary: Jim finally makes it to senior prom, and for once, the world isn't about to end.Was inspired by an ask game on tumblr: put a playlist on shuffle, pick a song that comes up, choose some lyrics, and write a drabble. This sort of became... a longform drabble. And, I felt fairly good about it, so, here you go! (The song was Tranz by the Gorillaz)
Relationships: Barbara Lake & Jim Lake Jr., Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Jim Lake Jr. & Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez
Series: Arcadia Oaks Senior Prom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972870
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	Do You Dance Like This? (Forever)

**Author's Note:**

> There is very brief angst at the beginning, so be warned! It does pass quickly, though!   
> Hope you enjoy!  
> Crossposted on tumblr @fear-before-valor   
> BIG BIG BIG thank you to @feather-dancer on tumblr (and Feather_Dancer here, I believe) for the help with Strickler's use of trollish!

_When you get back on Saturday night  
And your head is caving in  
Do you look like me, do you feel like me  
Do you turn into your effigy?_

Jim stared into his bathroom mirror, where a crack remained that had never been repaired. He traced over his own doing with a very human fingertip, though he’d made the crack with, at the time, stone hands, instead of the warm ones that he was peering at now. The crack had split the mirror down the middle, and spiderwebbed into smaller offshoots that weren’t quite enough to completely distort his reflection; they were only just enough to make something look Not Right. Though, to be fair to the mirror, every time Jim had seen himself since even as far back as Eternal Night— _and really, was that even that long ago? Or did it only feel that way?_ — something had felt Not Right. Capital N, capital R, Not Right. He’d seen it in everyone’s faces; in the brave way his mother had tried to hide her fear and worry behind support, but he could tell. He’d always been able to tell, with her. And Toby. And Blinky, after a while. He’d seen the worried faces of his family who tried to be strong for him, like he tried to be strong for them. But no amount of strength could hide when something uncontrolled in their faces blanched for just a moment, when they’d looked at him, just for a split second too late for them to cover it up.

It was one thing he definitely didn’t miss, from his time as a troll.

He wasn’t sure he even could say he missed it at all, though, if he was being honest. He’d never really asked for the form; only accepted it because it was what had been expected of him.

He supposed, if he did miss anything from it, though, he missed how utterly invincible he’d felt.

…Well.

Until he hadn’t anymore, when he was stabbed through his armor—through his heart—and suddenly he hadn’t felt so helpless in his life, as his own mind had turned traitor.

Jim never thought he’d approach anything like the singular sensation of even seeing his own effigy. Though, to be fair, he still hadn’t.

He hadn’t seen his own effigy.

He’d become it.

_Do you dance like this?  
Forever_

He could feel stone crumbling, as he met his own eyes in the mirror; he could feel his own skin crumbling, as his terror stared at him back. He could feel his _own body crumbling— I’m dying…!_ He’d thought. _I’m dying and Claire has to watch—_

and then he felt the soft vibration of his phone at his hip. Three quick buzzes, a pause between them, three more buzzes, a pause between them, three more, and a pause, and Jim almost missed the green ‘accept’ button.

He raised his phone to his ear, forgetting to look at who it was.

“Jim? Where are you? My mom is demanding pictures, and my dad can only stall for so long!”

_Claire_.

When Jim opened his mouth to answer back, he was surprised to feel a smile stretched over his lips— he hadn’t even known he’d started to do that. He was quiet for a moment, just smiling, listening to the muffled commotion of Ophelia Nuñez nigh on a warpath, and her husband who had the distinct sound of a father trying to quiet a rambunctious toddler, while also attempting to have a civil conversation with his wife, all at the same time.

And it struck Jim.

It was so normal. So, incredibly normal. Even hearing NotEnrique chime in once in a while, sounding remarkably delighted by the chaos, was so blessedly normal, that Jim’s smile threatened to turn into a beam.

Claire had apparently gotten worried at his lack of response, however, and said, uncertainly, “…Jim? Are you there?”

He snapped back to the present. “Oh. Hey, Claire. Sorry; uh, I was having trouble fixing my—” he’d meant to decide if he was going to say his tie, or his hair, but instead it came out as, “Hairtie. I mean—”

Claire cut him off, a soft giggle chiming through his phone speaker, which set his heart spiraling. “Your hairtie, huh? Well, hurry up beauty queen, or we’re going to be late. You know between my mom and yours, we’re going to take centuries to be done with photos, and that’s not even taking into account when we meet up with Toby and the others, and _their_ parents. It’s gonna be a brigade of parents, Jim!”

Jim chuckled, supposing that he wasn’t quite as unhappy about that as he perhaps should be. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way.” He said, and after a hushed ‘I love you,’ from Claire— who would never live it down if she was caught saying such a thing at seventeen— and a sickeningly sweet ‘I love you’ from himself in return, Jim hung up the phone, and slipped it back into his slacks pocket.

In his defense, he really had been trying to fix his hair, before he’d had his… episode. Now, he stared at it, and decided it was a hopeless cause due to the sheer amount of ruffles it would get from his mom alone, and so reached to grab his suit coat, instead. Pulling it on, he exited the bathroom, and just as he was about to slide down the railing, a hand caught him by the back of his collar.

“Now, Young Atlas, I do hope you were decidedly _not_ going to risk ruining your dress pants on our banister?”

Jim groaned, rolling his eyes in an extremely over-exaggerated way, making sure Strickler saw. “I was gonna be careful!”

Strickler only looked amused, “I’m sure. But why don’t we take the stairs like civilized people, just in case?” He wrapped a gentle arm around Jim’s shoulders, guiding them both down the stairs together.

Barbara was at the bottom, dressed casually, for once— there had been no ifs ands or buts; she had the night off, and wasn’t on call unless the world ended. Of course, given Arcadia’s track record, that could have been an unfortunately high chance, but then again, it felt like even evil was taking a backseat that day. It seemed that that day was the first day they’d had in ages where _no one_ wanted to destroy the world. Not even a continent.

And it was divine.

The sun was hanging lazily in the sky, golden light filtering harmlessly through their blinds, though Strickler was, of course, careful, regardless. He’d agreed to stay with the children until Barbara got back, but stood in the foyer as a mother stared at her son— looking so scarily like an adult— and watched with a smile, as she embraced the boy, trying to hide her misting eyes.

Barbara pulled back after a moment, and despite her valiant effort, hadn’t successfully stopped her tears from spilling, so as she pulled away from Jim, she wiped at her eyes under her glasses. Jim’s face softened, as he reached up to put a hand on her cheek, “Aw, mom, hey—”

“You just look so grown up, Jim.” She cut him off, going in for a second hug. He laughed, and hugged her again, and they held it, for longer this time.

After a moment too long, Jim opened his eyes to glance at Strickler, and shot him a look that screamed _help me_. Jim wasn’t sure he’d be able to get his mom to let go by himself. Then again, this, too, did not bother him much.

Seeing Jim’s face, however, Walt chuckled and moved to place a comforting hand on Barbara’s shoulder. “Come, now, _tarn_ , you must get going. You two have a picture date to attend, after all.”

Barbara finally pulled back enough to give a wet laugh, saying, “I’m glad you made me get waterproof mascara.” She smiled fondly at Walter, “It’s going to come in handy, if this is only beginning.”

The beginning of many more events to come, she meant. Jim was a senior this year, and graduation was approaching far quicker than any of them were ready for.

“I’m going to go get a few more tissues, actually.” She realized, and turned to dart back into the living room, to secretly tuck the whole box into her purse. She wouldn’t be the only one who needed them, after all.

As she left Walter and Jim alone, the former teacher reached to clasp Jim’s shoulder, to get his attention, and to hold him in some way. The boy was good at hiding it, but Strickler hadn’t missed the slight shaking of his hands, which he’d tried to hide, as he’d buried them into his coat pockets, post-hug. Walt gave Jim a gentle, reassuring smile, “Jim. How do you feel?”

The boy futzed for a moment, glancing into the living room, and then back to Strickler— there was a flash of a memory, when the two of them had been watching for Barbara in a much different way— and then he shook his head, smiling—a real smile, genuine. He spoke the truth when he said, “I’m fine, actually. Just nervous. I’m bad at dancing.”

Walter gave a gentle, kind laugh, “I believe you ought not worry, Young Atlas. Were Claire to break up with you over your dancing, I fear there would be a much larger issue at play.”

Jim’s eyes went wide at the implication, and Strickler realized the poor timing of the joke. “Ah, but… you needn’t worry. The world will not end because our trollhunter has two left feet. Claire loves you, Jim. You will be quite alright, I believe.”

Jim fidgeted for a moment, looking as if he was trying to make up his mind on something.

And then Barbara rejoined them, giving Walt a quick kiss on the cheek, interrupting whatever Jim had been about to say. She slung her purse over her shoulder, and reached to place a hand on Jim’s back. “Let’s go, honey. Can’t keep Claire waiting too long, eh, Romeo?” She teased.

Jim rolled his eyes, but grinned, “Yeah, yeah.” He turned to the door, but then halted, and looked over to her, as if he’d just remembered something. “Hey, Mom? Why don’t you go get the car started? I think I left mine and Claire’s tickets upstairs.”

Barbara looked at him to joke that that was, of course, important, but as she turned, she caught the smallest glimpse of the corner of the tickets already sticking out of Jim’s coat pockets. She glanced from Jim to Walter, who gave her a nod. Ah.

She pretended to be none-the-wiser, as she walked over to hug Walter. He was surprised, but accepted it, and as she held on, she whispered, “Thank you, my love.”

He murmured, “Of course, _von swin dwoyem eks klokarp_.”

Barbara gave a soft laugh. “One day I’ll get you to tell me what that means.”

“Not a chance.” He winked, as she let go, and properly exited the house.

Jim had averted his eyes throughout the exchange, embarrassed. No matter how long he lived with them, it would still always be a little awkward to see the two of them like that.

He looked back up when the front door clicked shut.

It was a split-second, the silence hanging in the air between them. And then Jim surged forward, and wrapped his arms around Strickler’s neck, having to get up on his tiptoes to do so, even for his stature. He held on only just long enough for Walt to loosely wrap his arms around Jim in return. They stayed for a moment, and then Jim pulled back, standing awkwardly, as if he’d surprised himself.

Strickler opened his mouth to speak, but Jim took that moment to cut him off, blurt, “Thank you,” and make a beeline for the door.

Walt let him go. When the front door shut again, he smiled to himself.

_Do you dance like this?  
Forever_

That night, three very not-normal teenagers engaged in one of the most normal rituals of high school that any of them had gotten to do, thus far—Senior Prom. They filled their phone storage with pictures, screamed their voices hoarse, abandoned shoes, ties, coats, danced themselves breathless, wheezed when they had not the breath to laugh at that very same dancing, collapsed on each other in a giggling heap on the floor when they rested for only a moment—they had to soak up _everything_ ; they couldn’t waste time sitting!— and stole far too much food from the snack table. They saw friends, old and new, teased each other, or professed love, declared themselves best friends, and decided to abandon their plans for the future. They didn’t need them. For one, incredible night— for one, _normal_ night, they danced, frozen in forever.

For one beautiful night, Jim danced, hand-in-hand in a three-pronged circle with his two best friends in the world, and after two long, long years… Nothing was wrong. It was _perfect_.

**Author's Note:**

> Tarn- "Red"  
> Von swin dwoyem eks klokarp- "My light within the darkness"


End file.
